The Dragon's Elegy
by Turquoise Girl
Summary: Have you ever wondered what became of Draco Malfoy after he left Hogwarts? Whether or not, he joined Voldemort or Dumbledore? Here is the conclusion to The Journal.


**Disclaimer: JKR owns everything. The song belongs to Metallica.**

**Plot: I guess I have a plot since this takes place four years after The Journal, but I don't know what it is. I suppose it's a wrap up to The Journal. **

**Author's Note: There's no journal writing in this chapter, but a lot of flashbacks, which will be designated by _italics_, okay? And there is some explicit stuff, but not enough that I deem a NC-17 type of thing. **

**You are warned.**

* * *

**The Dragon's Elegy**

Four years.

Four years since that day.

_Dumbledore came into the Great Hall and asked for their attention. "It is with deep regret that I must inform you all that Miss Hermione Granger has," he paused and closed his eyes. Then he opened them, "has taken her life late last night."_

Draco Malfoy sat in a small smoky pub, unwinding after a long night of killing. He brought the mug to his lips and drained it. He set it back down to the oak table with a loud thud. The din of the pub stopped for a moment and then resumed, ignoring his presence. Acknowledging him might be their death.

Much had changed in four years. Draco was no longer a boy. Her death had burned away many things about him—laughter, delight in the good things of life, his humanity. He was now a hardened murderer. Lean and dangerous, he was a predator.

However, nothing much had changed regarding the war. Voldemort was still doing battle with that son of a bitch Potter. Dumbledore and the Order were still doing their best to defeat the Dark Side. Right now, both sides were at a stalemate. Two weeks have gone by without a move by either side. Until now, that is. The Dark Lord had called and given Draco a mission to shake up the Order. It didn't matter who it was as long as it was devastating.

Why did you have to die? Draco thought silently over his firewhiskey. His elation at being able to kill tonight was gone, leaving only a saddened disposition.

Her face bloomed into clarity within the confines of his tired mind. Her tamed wavy hair, a brown sable, giving many the idea that she had just woken from a night of long loving. It had been a joke in the Slytherin House. There were bets on whether she was actually sleeping with Potter or Weasley or not.

Her warm, expressive brown eyes that seemed to probe at his mind and soul. Her eyes that saw so much in him. She also had a sleepy sort of smile, which only fanned the Slytherin rumors. She was one of a kind. Draco doubted there would ever be another like her, not in a million years.

He drained the rest of his mug and set it down gently rather than slamming it as he dearly wished to do. He paid and strolled to the entrance, acutely aware of the stares. Draco stopped at the door and whirled around to stare down the bar patrons with his steely gaze. He sneered contemptuously at the lot of them. None dare to hold his gaze for more than a second.

Then he left, robes billowing dramatically after him. Draco thought it slightly amusing that only those sorted into Slytherin at dear ol' Hogwarts could accomplish that little trick. He knew many in the other Houses envied them for that. More than once he had come across first and second years trying to mimic Slytherins in isolated corridors.

A memory of a certain Gryffindor trying, turn after turn, to get that effect brought a cruel smile to his lips. Potter was such a hypocrite. He abhorred everything dark and connected to Voldemort, and yet he tried to emulate a powerful figure. A mirthless chuckle escaped as he remembered coming across Potter and ruthlessly rubbing that in his face.

The good ol' days, that's what they were. A person could be critically injured by a carefully placed insult. Now they were killed by a carefully placed curse.

He chuckled. Somehow killing was more satisfying than trading insults nowadays.

Draco smiled another cruel smile. Yes, killing was most satisfying. Even more so actually, as it was all for her. He knew that she would have approved and supported him in his endeavors. He breathed deep, reliving the thrill of the hunt.

Many of his brethren preferred a quick and deadly attack whereas he loved to draw out the kill. Draco took the only pleasure he had in life in toying with his victims. Take for example earlier that night when Voldemort had given him permission to shake up the Order.

Ah, the fun he had eliminating Ginny Weasley. She was quite powerful, but not powerful enough. She was feisty as well. The girl put up a good fight, but in the end, he broke her neck after he broke her wand. It was purely a physical death, not a magical one as many now killed are.

Oh, yes, the Weasley family was his. Draco made that plain to Voldemort and to the other Death Eaters at the very beginning. That they actually stayed away from the Weasleys was a miracle. He wouldn't put it past Voldemort to order the Weasleys untouched unless by Draco.

Either way, Arthur and Molly Weasley were killed after Ginny Weasley. Draco forced Arthur to take his wife's life. The pain-filled sobs Arthur let out were almost music to his ears. Then he finished off Weasley Senior. The rest of the children were much more fun, but Percy Weasley's demise was the least satisfying of all. Bill, Charlie, the twins…dead, all dead. Only Ron Weasley still lived, but his time was coming.

Draco doubted the Dark Lord would be unpleased. The Weasleys have been a thorn in his side as well as Draco's, but his cause was more personal than the older wizard thought. Draco had been meaning to ask the Dark Lord permission to settle a few scores. Then out of the blue, Voldemort gives him the opportunity to do so in disguise.

He could still see them that day as though it were yesterday. Weasley making a fool of himself by totally breaking down and his sister vainly trying to stop him. And then there was HIM.

Harry fucking Potter.

Just sitting there. No tears or anything. Just that look of disappointment. He would have killed him this night if only the Dark Lord would allow him, but the-boy-who-lived was barred to all but Voldemort.

But no matter. Eight members of the Order down in one night. Ha, not bad for a night's work, although a bit tiring.

Draco secretly desired to be the one to finish Harry Potter off, not Voldemort. He honestly didn't think Voldemort could anymore.

Seven times, his master had that fucking hero in his grasp and each time was allowed to slip away like mist.

_If you go to Voldemort, tell him what Potter did to me. I know he will use it to his advantage. When Potter gets angry, he becomes shortsighted. Tell him that, too._

Such sweet words of advice, Draco wished she told him that personally. In any case, he didn't. He kept the knowledge of what Potter had done to himself in hopes that his dream would become reality.

Apparating to his home, Draco unlocked the door. No one knew where his home was. He had put every security measure known to the wizarding world on the small house that no one could find it unless he personally told them where to look.

So far, only one person had ever known—Blaise Zabini.

And he was gone.

It turned out that Zabini had gotten cold feet about two years ago, but was man enough to stay with his chosen side. He did manage, however, to play double agent for a while until his demise a few months ago. Sneaking information to the other side had only one punishment.

A traitor was not how Draco wanted to remember his old comrade.

Zabini did not beg for his life as so many of his other victims did.

"I never stopped being your friend, Draco. Remember that," Zabini had said.

Draco did not reply. Instead, he gave his 'friend' a quick death. It was the only quick death he'd ever dealt out in his remembered career.

Tossing his cloak onto a chair, Draco entered the small sitting room without turning on any lights.

He crossed to the cold fireplace and reached for the mantel. Sliding his finger all the way to the end and then down along the brick face, counting as he did so. Draco stopped on the fifth brick down and tapped twice. The brick vanished to reveal a small hidey-hole. A dusty black velvet bag tied up with golden tassels lay there.

Pulling it out, Draco closed the hole in the fireplace and went to his room.

In the dark, he drew a plain leather bound book from the velvet bag. The cover was worn down to a soft shine as if being handled many times.

It was actually. The book was Draco's most beloved possession. It took a higher position than his wand.

Caressing the cover, he opened the book and turned to the page he knew by heart.

_I love you and always will._

God, how he wished he could have heard her say those words to him. He tried to imagine hearing those words in her voice so many times, but failed miserably and feeling even emptier than before. He filled the emptiness with rage and death.

"I love you, too, Hermione." The words poured from his soul. He heard heartfelt honesty and longing in his own voice. Shaking his head slightly, he asked, "Why did you have to die? Why couldn't you have come to me?"

But he knew the answer to his own questions. It was because of his ignorance and lack of foresight and in-depth scrutiny of his obsession that she killed herself.

_Draco…_

His head snapped up. Straining to hear that voice again, he stilled.

Did he actually hear his name? Or was that wishful thinking?

Snorting, Draco fell back on to the bed. "You're finally losing it, mate. After all these years, your mind's gone. What would Lucius say about that?"

Actually, he could quite imagine what his father would say. Lucius had been suspicious of Draco's sudden desire to be one Voldemort's Death Eaters. It wasn't until two years ago that he had found out.

_"You joined because of her? A filthy, worthless Mudblood? You are pitiful. You are not worthy of the Malfoy name. You make me sick."_

On and on, Lucius would rant and rave about what a disgrace he was to the family. In fact, he would rant and rave just about anything. It was his duty to put his father down like the dog he was, putting an end to his misery.

Perhaps it was this event that made everyone wary of him. If he had no qualms about killing his father, why would he shy of killing anyone else? Someone without loyalty was not to be trusted at all.

That wasn't true. Draco was loyal. He was loyal to her. Fuck, she was all he was living for now. He would avenge her death with Potter's. That raping bastard would die a slow and painful death.

"SHIT!" Draco lunged off the bed and slapped the inside of his left forearm. He pushed up his sleeve and glared at the burning red mark.

Why is he summoning me? Draco thought.

There were only three reasons the Dark Lord would summon him in the middle of the night.

One, if someone had touched any of his marks.

Two, if Voldemort had an assignment for him.

Or three, if Potter was attacking.

Draco sincerely hoped for the last reason. He instantly apparated to his lord's side. He was only one of two who could do that.

Everyone else had to apparate outside of Voldemort's house.

He was disappointed by the quiet study he entered. He turned around to take his surroundings. No enemies…for now.

He spotted Voldemort at his desk. The wizard was in a chair and was staring out the window. He appeared to be looking at the stars.

Draco took a moment to remember the last time he looked at the stars. It was years ago. He couldn't bear looking at those pinpoints of light anymore. It was too reminiscent of the time when he did watch the nighttime sky—when he was still at Hogwarts…with her.

"Draco," Voldemort's cold, high voice called out to him. He started to say something else, but hesitated and changed direction. "You are unhappy with me."

He didn't say anything.

"You feel I've lost my will to fight." Voldemort turned his blazing red eyes on him. Draco didn't so much as blink. He was gazing at the curtains. Besides, the Dark Lord didn't scare him. "What should I do to reclaim your faith in me?"

He had never placed any faith in Voldemort, other than as a means to an end…Potter's end.

Draco focused his cold gaze on the man before him. "Have you found the Light's center of operations?"

Voldemort stiffened in response to his low jab. A three weeks ago, Theo Nott, who had been shadowing one member of the Order, had returned with a report of his mark turning down a street and suddenly disappearing between two houses along that street.

Certain Death Eaters, those especially talented of spying, were placed strategically around the point where the wizard had vanished. Several other known members of the Order had been sighted coming out of the same area. Everything was noted. Voldemort planned and Draco waited with patient anticipation of facing Potter.

Voldemort had somehow managed to get Dumbledore to send the directions of their hideout. Draco didn't care. His body and mind was preparing to kill the one who had caused her death.

The day of the set attack came and all moved into position. It was perfectly planned, and for once, all knew his or her part. Some of the younger Death Eaters were to stage an attack outside: some being Death Eaters, others being helpless wizards looking for solace. When the Order would rush out to help, they would walk into an ambush. Death Eaters would separate the older members from getting back into the house or whatever the hell it was.

It was the perfect setup. It could not have gone wrong except for a Death Eater, newly inducted. The staged battle had begun and wizards began to come out, but that Death Eater did the wrong thing. Once he saw the Order members, he grinned and pointed his wand at them.

It was something a 'victim' shouldn't have done.

But all those carefully laid plans were all for nothing.

Draco watched Voldemort torture the young Death Eater for days before killing the wretched brat. He couldn't help but smirk slightly.

The Dark Lord's thin lips tightened. A long moment passed before he spoke in measured words. "No, but I greatly anticipate the information of the new headquarters to be forthcoming in a short time. The next attack will be better orchestrated with no snags this time."

The quiet threat in his voice reached Draco quite clearly. Unmoved by it, Draco merely blinked. He had cultivated the look of boredom in his early years. That mask was extremely useful and impenetrable, even from the most intense and critical of stares, like Voldemort's. He could not count the many times the Dark Lord had tried to break it.

The threat, so soft, so low, was not lost on him. Draco was not to blame for the young Death Eater's mistake, but just before the attack was to go down, he had decided to not to participate directly in the attack. He had decided to go in _after_ the house was secured. Surely, Potter was not going to be killed that soon. No, Voldemort was going to save him for last.

Perhaps the plan, the attack, could have been salvaged if he had been there. Draco was known for changing the winds of fate when he decided to play nice with others. As it was, however, he had arrived late and was at the side of the house instead of the front like Voldemort had wanted.

Ah, no use in dwelling on that.

Draco inclined his head. "Very well." He turned and walked to the door. Pausing before he opened it, he said over his shoulder, "I should hope that your…information arrives soon. Or I should be forced to act without you."

"Would you really be so rash, Draco? It is I alone who will destroy the Light, not you."

He stood very still, so as not to lash out. Instead, he kept his thoughts to himself. Draco sauntered out, not caring if Voldemort thought that was his plan. The only thing that mattered was Potter died. The Light did not have a place in his plan. That was Voldemort's thing, not his. Too bad Potter and the Light were connected and that Potter was a focus for the Dark Lord.

Draco apparated back to his little house, back to the darkness. Who knew that he would grow to be this murderous and cruel? Sometimes he wished that he had been born to another family, or never have been born at all, but why waste wishes on what could not be changed? The only thing that mattered was that he had lived to see her beauty and quiet grace.

In the years since Hogwarts, Draco had conversed with her an infinite number of times, some in his mind, others as if she were standing before him. He had told her stories of his childhood, of what his father used to be like before he changed, and of his mother. He spoke of his thoughts about Potter, Hogwarts, and Voldemort. He spoke of what he thought of her, what he wanted to do with her, what he had wanted to show her. If he hadn't been able to open up to her in life, he had done it in death.

A song came unbidden, one he had stumbled across whilst looking for the band Evanescence, a song called The Unforgiven. It was by a group called Metallica. The words ran through his mind and he began to hum it.

_New blood joins this earth  
__And quickly he's subdued  
__Through constant pained disgrace  
__The young boy learns their rules  
__With time the child draws in  
__This whipping boy done wrong  
__Deprived of all his thoughts  
__The young man struggles on and on he's known  
__A vow unto his own  
__That never from this day  
__His will they'll take away_

_What I've felt  
__What I've known  
__Never shined through in what I've shown  
__Never be  
__Never see  
__Won't see what might have been_

_What I've felt  
__What I've known  
__Never shined through in what I've shown  
__Never free  
__Never me  
__So I dub thee unforgiven_

_They dedicate their lives  
__To running all of his  
__He tries to please them all  
__This bitter man he is  
__Throughout his life the same  
__He's battled constantly  
__This fight he cannot win  
__A tired man they see no longer cares  
__The old man then prepares  
__To die regretfully  
__That old man here is me_

_What I've felt  
__What I've known  
__Never shined through in what I've shown  
__Never be  
__Never see  
__Won't see what might have been_

_What I've felt  
__What I've known  
__Never shined through in what I've shown  
__Never free  
__Never me  
__So I dub thee unforgiven_

_You labeled me  
__I'll label you_

_So I dub thee unforgiven_

By the end, he was singing, low and rich. The silence lengthened when he finished. He took the moment to breathe deeply and whispered her name reverently. The end was drawing near. How he knew, he didn't know, but he could feel it deep within. It would not be long until he joined her in the afterlife.

Draco laid down, her journal cradled against his chest. Just before he drifted off for much needed sleep, he whispered, "I love you, Hermione."

He didn't hear the voice calling back, asleep as he was. _Draco…_

He awoke with a start and shielded his eyes from the shaft of light coming through a crack in the heavy dark curtains. He sat up and looked at the clock across the room. He fell back, groaning.

1:00 p.m.

At his best guess, he'd been asleep for eight hours, which meant he'd fallen asleep around 5 a.m. He should probably get up and see what the Daily Prophet wrote about his handiwork. He smiled in anticipation and he got up.

Draco showered and brushed his teeth. He surveyed his reflection in the mirror, turning his face side to side. There was a small bruise forming along his jaw, most likely from Ginny Weasley's struggles the night before. He muttered a spell and it disappeared from sight. He towel-dried his hair and ran his fingers through it. Afterwards, he dressed in his customary black and headed out for Knockturn Alley. Aurors were not a problem there because Death Eaters, as a rule, did not go there. Except for him, of course, but his reputation preceded him as ever and a rat was highly unlikely.

Knockturn Alley was a dump. There was nothing for the politer side of society in that area. Only those destitute and down-on-their-luck sort would be skulking around there. Draco purposefully walked to one of the shops that supplied him with his newspapers and just about anything else that he needed or wanted. He was in that shop for precisely a minute before leaving, a copy of the Daily Prophet hidden within his robes.

He retreated back to his home. Throwing his robes onto a chair, he withdrew to the kitchen and proceeded to make something to eat. The house used to be a muggle one and so didn't come with any House elves. He had also denied his father's gift of a couple House elves as well. He didn't want anyone or anything to disturb his solace.

As he cooked a couple of eggs, Draco became more aware of the deep anger roiling inside. The cause was quite simple. It was February. He had withdrawn, become a recluse and not gone any of his many sprees so far this year. It was very different from the years past when he'd go out an occupy himself so as not to think of her. His rage simmered below the surface and he felt his control over it was astounding. There was a time when his deep-seated rage once ruled him, but while its intensity hasn't lessened, Draco found that it has calmed down enough to allow him to act rationally.

Once he ate, Draco took the Prophet from his robes and shook it out. What he found made him smile. A picture of a stoic Ron Weasley, raising a hand to his face, outside his sister's apartment, turning around repeatedly, was a balm to his soul. He had discovered that he and his sister had been very close, drawing on each other's strength after Hogwarts. But his satisfaction faded when Potter walked into the picture and put a hand on Weasley's shoulder. His face was set, no emotion showing.

Blinding hot anger grew, but Draco ruthlessly forced it back down. He would not allow his emotions to rule him. Not this year. He quickly read the article. The whole of the Weasleys were dead, no particular suspects although it was surely done by a group of Death Eaters. The impasse had ended. Potter and all the Order would be looking for the murderers who took so many of the Light down into eternal darkness.

He crumpled it into a ball and tossed it into the trash bin. He wanted to kill someone, anyone, anything to rid himself of his murderous rage boiling inside him. Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and concentrated on breathing, on calming his jumping nerves. He'd kept a low profile so far, and he wasn't about to blow it on an impulse. He would stay in, keep his nose hidden. There was no way he'd get in trouble. No way at all.

He kept himself locked away in his house for a week. He didn't go out for food, he had plenty of it, or for information. He couldn't make himself care enough to discover what happened during that week. All he did was remember his years at Hogwarts.

Draco tenderly stroked the cover of the plain brown leather bound book in his hands. He could still hear Dumbledore's dispirited voice echo in his mind. He could still see the wizard as he announced the news that would direct his life's path.

_"It is with deep regret that I must inform you all that Miss Hermione Granger has," he paused and closed his eyes. Then he opened them, "has taken her life late last night."_

He remembered how his mouth had gone dry and his heart pound. He could remember how he felt as though he was going to be sick.

His pale hands clenched as he remembered Harry Potter's face shadowed with disappointment, not grief at the news of his best friend's death. He knew what Potter had done to her, what made her take her own life.

_I hate Harry Potter! How dare he do it! I feel so dirty! How could he do such a thing to me? My body keeps shivering and I can already see bruises forming from where he grabbed me…_

_Merlin, it was scary. His eyes were so dark and angry as he held me down. He wouldn't let me go, no matter how much I begged him…_

_I wish I were dead…_

_Harry Potter finally succeeded in getting me alone. He managed to finish what he had started. I haven't told anyone yet. I still feel dirty inside. I don't know what to do._

Potter had raped her. That one fact made him burn until he fairly thought steam blew out his ears. She had written of how he had taunted her and Draco so dearly wanted to make him pay. He knew what weapon to use. He remembered her advice to him. He could never forget.

_If you go to Voldemort, tell him what Potter did to me. I know he will use it to his advantage. When Potter gets angry, he becomes shortsighted. Tell him that, too._

He hadn't told Voldemort. Rather, he kept it to himself in hopes that one day it would be him, not Potter's lifelong adversary, who would deal the deathblow to Potter. He kept it to himself so he could tell it to Potter as he gasped for his last breath.

That Fateful Day had changed everything. It had burned out any doubts he had about becoming a Death Eater. Oh, his father had been so pleased by his decision that he gave Draco the biggest party in celebration of getting the Dark Mark of his generation. Only Blaise Zabini's party was a close second.

It changed his relationship with Pansy Parkinson. Whereas he had been passionate in sex, that day quenched it. Pansy no longer aroused him no matter what she did. She never figured out the reason why. The vain chit thought it was herself. She was partly right. It was her and not her. Whatever she thought, their relationship ended weeks later.

Also, his father called off his watchdogs and let Draco finish school without any form of previous supervision. For that he was thankful. It gave him the privacy of grieving for what could have been. It also let him pick as many fights as he could with Potter.

Yes, he remembered how for a short while how satisfying it was to beat the shit out of Potter—

"Ah! Shit!" Draco grabbed his left forearm. Futilely, he rubbed the burning sensation away. What was it now? Had Voldemort given up his snit from last week? Draco snorted. That information the Dark Lord had been expecting had never come. Draco had ignored two summons since his meeting with him the week before.

He sighed. The commons had been more intense this time, if possible. He got up from his chair by the fire and crossed to the desk. Putting the journal in one of the drawers, he slid it shut and locked it.

His lord called to him and he would go.

* * *

"Draco," said a high, cold voice. "I have not seen you at the last two meetings." 

Draco gazed defiantly into Lord Voldemort's eyes. You could call him brave or courageous for doing so, but he would tell you otherwise. After she died, all of his fears died with her, including his fear of Voldemort. He felt nothing at all facing him, usually. This time, a seed of resentment was present.

"I was occupied, my lord." Draco kept his words short and to the point.

"What, pray tell, was more important than I?" asked Voldemort in as silky a voice as he could manage.

Draco leaned forward to give the appearance that what he was about to say was confidential. Voldemort leaned forward in his chair as well to catch what he had to say.

"I was finding myself."

The serious countenance of his lord's face gave way to anger. "Do you think this a joke, boy!"

Smirking because he knew it would anger Voldemort even more, Draco said, "Do you really want me to answer that?"

"Draco, I've allowed you free rein because you are the most loyal of your generation and you are the most ruthless and cruel of them all." Voldemort rose from his chair and walked to the window. He gazed out into the night with his back to Draco. His tall, skeletal form was in voluminous robes disguising it. "Young Zabini barely held a candle to you, and he was right behind you."

Draco waited for his lord's next words. If Voldemort complimented you, what he says next would decide whether you lived or not.

"You have not been yourself these last two weeks. You've been irritable and argumentative." Voldemort turned. "In fact, I've noticed the same cycle has occurred for the last three years. This…change always happens in February. One might ask why."

He forced his heart to beat normally and his breathing to stay regular. There was no way Voldemort could know. Only Blaise Zabini knew and if Zabini kept his oath, no one else would ever know either, since he was dead.

Draco said, "How peculiar, my lord. I never noticed such a yearly occurrence."

Voldemort chuckled. "Do not insult my intelligence, young Malfoy. I also know the cause of your…self-imposed isolation."

His heart stopped. The resentment he had felt at the beginning of this meeting had drained away, leaving something else in its stead: dread.

"I should thank you for keeping away, Draco. I believe if you had not, my followers would suffer many casualties."

He narrowed his eyes at the older wizard. Near growling, he asked, "And why should you thank me?"

Voldemort blinked. His flat white face appeared surprised. "Let's just say you become unreasonable when you are irritable." The wizard smiled coldly. "Very unreasonable."

Then it came upon him. Oh, Voldemort was talking about his frequent killing sprees.

That makes sense, Draco thought. His killing sprees were always triggered by Potter's latest fucking heroics or any reminders of her.

"And while your rampages are always most entertaining to me and devastating to the Order, you have had more than enough time to temper your emotions, Draco. In the past I have pushed away any concerns I've had of you, but enough is enough."

After making sense of what the man was saying, Draco's familiar rage came precariously close to the surface. He spat out. "Don't you dare preach to me what YOU don't practice."

Voldemort looked taken off guard. "What do you mean?"

"If you had gotten over your emotions, my lord," he sneered coldly, "you would not be Lord Voldemort. You possibly would have been Dumbledore's fucking best friend for all we know. Your current campaign would not exist. So don't tell me to get over it. Allow me my hate and I'll channel it into whoever you want killed."

His lord nodded slowly. "Yes. I see what you mean."

"Good. Now if you will excuse me, my lord, I feel the need to purge my present feelings." Draco turned to leave. Restlessness and anger moved his legs.

"Draco."

He stopped, but did not turn around.

Voldemort continued. "What I don't understand is why."

"I know." And he left.

Draco vainly tried to accept what Voldemort had revealed, but his heart kept rejecting it. He did not do denial so well. The quicker he could accept that he knew, the quicker he would be able to move on.

She was my secret, he thought furiously. Mine and no one else's.

He knew why he went through this cycle as Voldemort put it. It was his way of mourning her and all they might have had if only he had the courage to go to her. All the blood spilt was a sort of offering to her.

Draco could feel the tension radiating from his body. He fancied he could hear a hum in the air if he listened for it. He needed to find an outlet quick, and he found just the thing to do it.

He crouched down in the shadows just outside the perimeter of the backyard, hidden among the shrubbery. He knew his black robes afforded him some camouflage in the darkness.

He stared at the two-story house in front of him. There were no lights shining out of the windows. Everyone must be sleeping. The house itself looked asleep.

Excellent.

Standing up, Draco drew his wand and tapped himself on the head. He shuddered as he felt that familiar feeling of something cold running down his body. He liked the qualities the Disillusionment Charm gave, but he could do without the initial physical sensation.

Quietly, he walked across the trimmed lawn to the backdoor. He tried the doorknob first to see if it was unlocked. Draco had learned that some muggles were not as strict in locking their homes as others were.

Ah, it was unlocked. Smiling grimly, he stepped inside and scanned the nearest walls for one of those alarm things. Nothing was there. No blinking light to show there was such a device. His smile widened as he passed through the kitchen and into the family room. He peered at the photographs in the darkness. Draco learned the house contained only a mother and three daughters, although he couldn't discern their exact features in the photos. He just knew they all had dark hair. He couldn't tell if it was brown or black.

Shrugging, he moved away. He would soon find out what they looked like up close. Draco left the room and did a quick check of downstairs. There were no bedrooms downstairs. He climbed the stairs then.

Anticipation ran through his veins. He crept silently to the first door on the right. It swung open and revealed a young girl perhaps about eleven or twelve years old. He sighed in disappointment. It wasn't sporting if they were very young and it made him feel like a dirty old man.

Ha, I am a dirty old man once you think about it, thought Draco.

He pointed his wand at her and whispered, "_Avada Kedavra_."

A jet of green light flashed and hit the girl. Draco went closer and touched the girl's cheek. She was dead, but she looked as though she was still sleeping.

He went back out into the hall and shut the door. He next visited the room across the dead girl's. This time the girl sleeping looked about sixteen or seventeen.

Now this is more like it, he thought. In the darkness he could see that she was sprawled out, her blankets were all askew about her waist. His eyes traced one bare shapely leg.

Draco cocked his head to the side and studied her. She was very pretty and he saw that she was wearing one of those spaghetti string tank tops. His blood quickened as he thought of exactly how he would take that top off.

After casting a silencing charm on the room and locking the door, he drifted over to the messy desk against the wall. Strewn about papers told him her name was Jessie. He had found that most teen muggle girls kept a diary. He sifted through the desk and grasped a sheet of paper that was written to another girl. It read that she wished some guy would just come into her room in the middle of the night and fuck her senseless. Her friend had written back teasing her about her fantasy. Jessie wrote she was sick of being a virgin.

A cold smile curved his lips. He thought, Well, Jessie, tonight's your lucky night.

Draco stripped off his robes and laid them on the chair, making sure to remember the order in which his clothes lay and where they were. He knew he could have taken off the Disillusionment Charm, but he would have more fun this way.

He sauntered over to the bed and watched her for a full minute, planning how exactly he would do this.

"Jessie," he whispered. "Jessie. Wake up, baby."

She stirred, but her eyes did not open. "Hmm?"

Her voice was low. He hardened more. "Jessie, baby, I'm here. Wake up. You have a long ride ahead of you."

A sleepy smile appeared on her lips. "Yeah? How long?"

"A long, hard ride."

She laughed sleepily. "I've been waiting for you."

"Have you?" Draco, feather light, touched her cheek. "Well, I have a gift for you."

"Yeah?"

"Give me your hands." She did and he guided them to his—

"Oh my!" Her eyes flew open and he drifted back out of reach. Jessie sat up disoriented. She glanced around the room. "That was a wild dream!" She lay back down. "Too bad I woke up."

Draco smiled. He waited until her breathing evened out. Then he stepped back to the bed and sat down on the edge. He could see her breasts straining against her thin top. Gently, his hand smoothed over her breasts until she unconsciously pushed against his hand.

"Jessie."

She moved.

"You're back. I thought you had gone away." Her eyes remained closed.

"I'll stay as long as you do something for me." He looked about her room and saw a scarf. He snatched it and found it was made of silk. "Will you wear this blindfold?"

She smirked. "You're kinky, but okay."

"Good." He fixed it in place. "Now, are you ready for that ride?"

After an hour, Draco fixed his robes and let himself out of Jessie's room. She was good for her first time, but not good enough. As she reached that sexual pinnacle, screaming in pleasure, he snapped her neck.

He chuckled darkly. He left Jessie naked in her bed.

Moving on to the next door, he found the other daughter. She looked about the same age as Jessie, but just a bit older perhaps by a year or two. Draco locked the door and again placed a silencing charm on the room. He went directly to the bed and gazed upon the girl. He had a feeling she would put up a fight and smiled in anticipation.

Not bothering to disrobe, he grabbed her violently by the shoulders.

Draco left the last daughter's bedroom after he'd erased all traces of his DNA, just has he'd done in Jessie's room. He fingered his throat. He felt the deep scratches the girl had left. He was right; the girl had been a fighter.

Smiling in a sleepy manner, the door to the master bedroom shut quietly. Draco decided to take his time with the mother. He crossed to the bed and saw a thatch of dark hair atop the covers. He pulled them back gently, preparing to kiss her awake.

With a sudden intake of breath, he jumped away, heart in his throat. The woman merely murmured in her sleep and settled more deeply in her bed.

Draco stared in horror and shock. The woman greatly resembled…_her!_ It was-was-was almost too much to bear. He looked away, unable to gaze at her. There was no way he'd touch her now. It was almost like sacrilege. It was okay before because the women he'd preyed upon didn't look a thing like her, but this woman!

He backed away. He couldn't—he wouldn't—touch her.

_Draco…_

He swiveled around, his wand out. That voice! He'd heard it before, but there was no one else in the room. Now, he was sure he was losing it. Panting harshly, he looked once more at the woman. As much as she looked like her, he wouldn't touch her nor allow anyone else to because of his reason.

"Avada Kedavra," he whispered. He shuddered. It was as if he had killed her, not this look-alike. He was tense. No, beyond tense, he was rock solid.

_Draco…_

Cursing, he apparated home. He had to take a shower. He had to wash away all feeling from this night. He scrubbed himself raw until he felt clean. Shutting off the water, he towel-dried himself, after which he wrapped it around his waist. He walked into his bedroom and sat on the bed, holding his head in his hands.

Merlin, he was shaking. Draco swallowed. How the hell could he be this affected? By one woman no less! And it wasn't even her!

"No, it was the voice," he whispered. "It was the voice that did it."

It sounded so much like her, calling his name as if she were lost. Draco closed his eyes tightly against the sting of tears. He wished, oh Merlin, he wished she was alive. He wouldn't be in this life he was living if she was alive.

The air seemed to press against him. The walls were closing in on him. He had to get out. Draco swiftly dressed and quit the house, his emotions still twisting and turning in dizzying patterns. He had to do something else tonight and it might as well be tying up loose ends, completing unfinished business with the last of the Weasleys.

He knew that Ron Weasley cared deeply for his sister. In fact, it almost bordered incest, but Draco knew instinctively that it wasn't like that between them. It was because of this little tidbit that he would capture the last remaining Weasel.

Waiting outside Ginny's apartment, he thought Gryffindors were so sentimental and very much predictable when it came to the death of people they cared. A sudden shadow alerted him to his quarry. Draco smiled grimly. He loved it when he was right.

Silently, he crept up on the Weasel, wand pointed at his back. Draco quickly whispered, "_Petrificus Totalus._"

Weasley's body went stiff as a board and fell forward. Draco kept his wand out and went to the frozen Gryffindor. He rolled him over and smirked darkly. "So predictable."

Within the next ten, fifteen, minutes, Draco was laughing.

"HA HA HA HA HA!" Draco shook his blonde head at Weasley's struggles. It was all so very amusing, not to mention taking his mind off what had happened earlier.

Weasley was hanging from the high ceiling fan, a rope around his neck. His legs, as long as they were, barely scraped the ground. There was no way he could save himself. Weasley kicked out, struggling in vain to touch the ground. He clawed at the rope at his neck, drawing blood. His face purpled and went blue.

Draco pulled up a chair and watched. A grin, disguised as a sneer, blossomed. This was so much fun and so right. Without a doubt, he knew she would have wanted this. Of all her friends, this one should have known something was wrong, but he didn't. It felt so good knowing he was avenging her.

When Weasley ceased his flailing once and for all, Draco put the chair back where it was and went through the Weaselette's house wiping down any surfaces he might have touched. With luck, the Daily Prophet would make this out to be a suicide. Merlin knows there was much in the world today to kill yourself over.

Who knows, he thought with smile, they might not even find his body for a week.

Draco let himself out the back door humming a tune, in high spirits, twirling Weasley's wand. The next night he was summoned again. Not wanting to upset the Dark Lord any further, Draco went.

* * *

The triumphant smile on Voldemort's white face told Draco one thing: he'd found the Light's headquarters. The hall where meetings were held was packed. Nearly every Death Eater had to be here. This fact only cemented Draco's theory. 

"Fellow Death Eaters," he began to the room at large, "the news we have so patiently been awaiting has arrived. At this moment, they are supremely confident that we cannot find them. They expect that we're still scrambling about like children. The best course of action is to attack now. Their newly set up quarters are barely manned with only the most dangerous and capable of our enemies. We also have the element of surprise. This battle will dictate the end of the war, Merlin willing…"

Draco stopped following when Voldemort had mentioned "the most dangerous and capable of our enemies". Potter was there. He had to be. The end was coming. It would happen that night.

He barely registered Voldemort's outlining the various positions that each Death Eater would play. He had nodded his assent when his position was to be on the front line. Then all were dismissed to prepare.

"Draco," Voldemort said, drawing his attention once they were alone. "I trust you have carefully thought about what I have said."

"Indubitably, sir," he replied.

"And there won't be a problem, will there?"

Draco shrugged. "What will happen will happen. Nothing will change what the Fates have decreed."

Voldemort studied him long and hard before nodding to himself. "Very well. Go and ready yourself."

He let himself out and returned home to get Weasley's wand and her journal. Then he came back to Voldemort's house. He found a room that was peaceful and quiet, in which he thought about many things. He thought about her. He thought about how his death would affect Voldemort's cause, how Potter's death would affect the war at large. In his heart, Draco knew it wouldn't be Voldemort who would kill Potter. It would be him, even if he had to go through the Dark Lord himself.

He then concentrated on putting himself in a killing set of mind. He brought up all the things that made him shake with anger and rage. It didn't take much actually. He was primed for action when it was time to meet once again with Voldemort, this time outside where all would be able to apparate directly to the Light's new center.

His comrades had wisely chosen to stand ten feet away all around. When he was set to kill, it didn't matter if it was friend or foe. Draco didn't listen to Voldemort's little prep talk. He breathed regularly and slow, keeping a rhythm up, and listened to his heartbeat in his ears.

He was the first to apparate when Voldemort said his name. With a loud CRACK, he was gone. When he next felt firm ground beneath his feet, Draco whipped out his wand and aimed it at the surprised members of the Order that were outside. He killed them without a second thought as more Death Eaters appeared. It was clear the Light had just found the place. There was nothing to protect the place except for the Order.

Warning cries went up, but it didn't help any. The Order fought hard, but they were losing. Their overconfidence was the cause of their downfall. It was clear that the Light had called for reinforcements, but it didn't help at all. The battle was fierce. Both Death Eater and members of the Order fell.

Draco didn't know how many he had killed. He didn't care. His eyes searched for Potter, but didn't see him anywhere outside. That left the building, a house. Voldemort had stormed in there. Face set, he fought his way to the building as well.

It was quiet inside compared to the loud roar of outside. He followed the shouts down in what was the basement. A few guards had surprised him, but he took care of them quick as lightning.

Suddenly, he found himself face-to-face with Albus Dumbledore. Or, to be more correct, what _had_ been Albus Dumbledore. The old wizard was covered in blood and not moving. Draco took note of the wounds. Blood was not coming out from the major injuries. His old Headmaster was dead.

He continued down the hall to the room at the end. Voldemort was ducking and running, all the while hurling curses and hexes at _him._

Harry Potter.

It was the first time in two years that Draco had seen him up close. His pale face was set, emerald eyes hard, Potter returned curses of his own. There was a scar running down the side of his face, from his temple to the underside of his jaw. There was also a weariness that cloaked him.

As he watched, Draco planned. Voldemort was so focused on Potter; he doubted he would be able to deflect a killing curse.

"FUCK!"

Draco watched as Potter slipped on a few sheets of paper. He watched as Voldemort quickly took advantage. No, he couldn't let that happen.

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!_" Draco roared, wand pointed at Voldemort, allowing his rage to fuel the curse. Voldemort would not take Potter's life!

The jet of green light hit Voldemort full in the chest. The Dark Lord had turned when he had yelled. The look of surprise froze on his skull-white face, slitted eyes wide. Voldemort fell back on the ground and did not move.

Potter looked from the darkened hallway to Voldemort's body and back to the hallway. Draco walked into the dim light.

Potter's eyes widened momentarily before his mouth turned downward. "Malfoy," he spat.

"Potter," he returned in the same vein. "Get up."

Slowly getting to his feet, Potter kept an easy grip on his wand. "It was you. You killed them all, didn't you?"

"I've killed many people, Potter," he drawled. "Do be more specific."

"Ron, Ginny, Fred, George…" Potter began to circle to the left. "Percy, Bill, Charlie, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. All of them…dead. Murdered…by you."

Draco had moved to keep pace with Potter. He smirked. "Yes. All of them…by me. The Weaselette was the only one worthy of fighting. The rest I could have done away with in my sleep."

"_STUPEFY!"_ Potter yelled suddenly.

"_PROTEGO!"_ The Shielding spell rebounded Potter's curse. Draco then shouted, "_STUPEFY!"_

The red light flew at Potter, but the sneaky little bastard dodged it. "_Tarantallegra!"_

"_Protego!" _Draco moved to the right and took cover by a filing cabinet._ "Petrificus Totalus!" _Potter twisted away. The Petrified Spell hit the wall, blackening it with a thunderous crack.

"Come on and finish me off already, Malfoy!" Potter yelled. "Or aren't you man enough to do it?"

"Same to you, Potter!" Draco peeked out. He saw Potter taking shelter behind another cabinet. He pointed his wand at the cabinet. "_IMPEDIMENTA!"_

The cabinet was blown off the ground, taking Potter with it. Potter shouted in surprise, but it was cut short when he hit the wall. He shoved the cabinet off his shoulder and threw a glittering glare at Draco.

"You fucker!" Potter grabbed a book as he stood and threw it at him. Draco dodged the projectile and yelled, "_Stupefy!"_

The spell caught Potter in the shoulder, spinning him around before slamming him into the ground once more. Draco slowly walked over to him, wand pointed at Potter's prone body. He did not expect the spell to keep Potter down long, and he was not disappointed. Even as he drew near, Potter moved slightly, groaning.

Draco pointed his wand. "_Expelliarmus!"_ Potter's wand flew out of his loose grip. He made a groggy attempt to recover it before lying still once more. Draco turned him over with a boot. Potter's eyes were dazed, trying to focus. He sneered, "Pathetic, Potter."

As if those were the magic words, Potter instantly focused his hate-filled eyes on him. He tensed, preparing to move, but Draco put his boot on his chest, holding him in place. Tsking, wagging his finger at him, he said, "Not so fast, Potter."

Putting his wand away, Draco tilted his head to the side. "I really thought you would've been harder to kill, Potter, but it doesn't matter." He sighed. "Not anymore."

"You're talking nonsense, Malfoy," Potter growled.

_Draco …_

His gaze swept up and glanced about the room, looking for her. And it _was_ her. Draco knew it in his heart. He could feel her presence like a balm to his soul. He looked back at Potter. "She's here, you know. I don't know how, but she's watching, waiting, waiting for me to kill you."

"What are you talking about? Who's here?"

Draco merely smirked. He looked to where Potter's wand flew off into the shadows. He held out a hand and said, "_Accio wand!"_

Potter's wand flew into his hand. Draco turned it over in his hands, taking in every detail. Then he felt the wand become very hot. He'd heard of wands so completely loyal and committed to their owners that they wouldn't allow others to handle them. He caught Potter's triumphant grin. Before the wand became unbearably hot, Draco grasped it firmly in both hands and…

Snap.

"NO!"

Draco tossed the two pieces of what was Potter's wand over his shoulder. Potter followed the downward arc of his beloved wand. The deep anguish in his eyes was something to behold. Draco took the opportunity to reach in his robes. His fingers slid around the cold steel handle and drew out the knife. It gleamed dangerously in the dim light. A strip of moonlight from a boarded up window fell upon it as he handled it with ease, the quicksilver flashing with murderous intent.

True, he had a wand, but there were those who didn't deserve a death by curse. Glamour spells didn't work very well on the dead. So the ones he'd killed by knife had closed coffins, their families were the only ones who'd known how mutilated they were.

Quick as a snake striking, Draco used it, moving his boot, going down on his knee…sliding the blade perfectly between the ribs and into a lung, by his guess. Potter jerked upwards in surprise, his mouth forming an O. Draco grinned. Potter drew in a shuddering breath and coughed heavily.

"So easy," Draco mused. He pulled the knife out He stayed kneeling where he was, watching Potter. His nemesis coughed again, his spittle coming down the corner of his mouth, dyed red, and his breathing became more gurgling by the second.

"I…I c-can't breathe," Potter gasped.

Draco continued watching, feeling the adrenalin slowly fade. He could tell Potter's breathing was becoming shallower. It wouldn't be long now.

"I know, Potter. I know what you did."

"What?" Potter's eyes were becoming unfocused now.

"I know what you did to her." Potter turned his unfocused gaze towards him. "I loved her, you know. And she loved me. Because of you, we never had a chance! We never had a chance to be happy!"

"I…what?"

Draco leaned close, as he dreamed so many times, felt Potter gasping for breath. "I know, Potter. I know you raped her. I know you raped Hermione!"

He drew back enough to see Potter's horrorstruck eyes, glazing over in fear and death. Draco took deep pleasure in his moment of victory. He'd accomplished what he set out to do, what he dreamed of doing.

"Draco."

He already knew she was there, having heard her voice. Draco watched Potter take his last breath, an expression of shock frozen on his face until the muscles relaxed in death's slackened splendor.

It was over. By the gods, it was finally over. He drew in a deep breath, struggling to accommodate this new perspective.

"Draco."

He rose, slightly unsteady, and slid his knife back into its sheath. There was a tingle at the back of his neck. He heard her voice, could tell it was different for some reason. Draco turned slowly, taking in every detail of the room. He saw a figure standing in the door from which he entered, at the corner of his eye. He turned swiftly and brought her in full sight.

His heart began to pound painfully. A choked whisper emerged, "No…it can't be."

"Draco." The liquid chocolate of her eyes shimmered. He greedily drank in her delicate oval face, her lush berry lips, her slim body encased in a black shirt and black skintight pants, the tamed waves of her auburn hair. Her arms opened wide to embrace him as she stepped forward. "Oh, Draco!"

"Hermione!" He took long strides towards her and stopped a foot away from her. His hand raised up between them and gently touched her cheek, his heart aching. He saw a tear spill down, tracing a watery path down her soft pale cheek. Draco wiped it away, his hand then turning to cradle her jaw. He whispered, "How can this be?" before he pulled her into his arms, as he dreamed of doing over the long years of solitude.

The warmth, the softness, of her body fully convinced his mind that she was truly real, and not a figment of his demented mind. Her arms held him tightly, nearly bringing tears to his eyes. She looked up and he looked at her, at her lips. Draco bent his head and gently touched his lips to hers. She tasted of heaven and bliss.

"Oh, Draco!" she gasped softly. "I'm so sorry. You must understand. It was the only way." Her slim body shuddered in his arms. Her hand slipped up to his neck. Her breath brushed his cheek and her eyes filled with unshed tears. "I had to disappear for both our sakes."

"But why? Why did you make me suffer so, Hermione? I would have given anything to bring you back to me," he said heatedly. "Anything!"

"Draco, it was for us. We had to grow stronger, both of us. We wouldn't be able to do that if I'd stayed." She took his face in both hands and pulled him closer to her. "But it's all over. We can be together."

"Where were you?" Draco brushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes.

"I was in hiding for four lonely years in Scotland, Draco. It was awful. All I could think or dream about was you, wondering if you were alive or dead. I rarely received news. It was only this past month that I tried to find you in my meditations."

"I heard you, Hermione. I couldn't believe it at first. I thought I was going crazy." Draco pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I heard you."

"And then I tried again tonight and found you here."

Draco embraced her once again. "Never again. I'm never letting you go, Hermione." Then he heard voices, the voices of his fellow Death Eaters. They must have succeeded in capturing the Light's new headquarters. He glanced back at the doorway. "We have to get out of here."

They both concentrated on apparating, but they felt blocked…trapped. Hermione was the first to realize. "Oh God, we can't apparate from the inside."

Draco shot a grim look at Potter's corpse. "It appears, Potter, that you have the last laugh after all." He turned to Hermione. "We'll have to get outside."

"I'm with you, Draco," she breathed. "I love you."

"I love you, too." He pulled her into a quick kiss. Once the other Death Eaters recognized her, and that she was with him, they'd condemn him as a traitor and do all they can to kill them both.

He took her hand with his left and carried his wand in his right. Draco caught the brave lift of her chin and couldn't resist one more kiss. He pulled her close and took her mouth. He poured all his love into the kiss. He couldn't help but feel as though they were saying good-bye. He pulled back and grasped her chin. "No heroics, love. We're making it out of here, and then I'll show you just how much I love you." He put as much sexual meaning into his last words as he could.

Even at such a time, and in such dim light he could still tell, Hermione blushed. He took her hand once more and pressed a kiss to it. Then he turned back to the doorway. He could hear calls for Voldemort and for himself.

They went out into the hallway and met Theo Nott. He barely got out Draco's name before Draco killed him with the Killing Curse. They passed his body silently. Several more times they were stopped, and several times more they continued. Once they were surprised from behind by Bellatrix Lestrange. Bellatrix immediately recognized Hermione, but dear, sweet Hermione deflected a curse and fired back the Killing Curse. Draco had never been so proud of anyone in his whole life as at that moment he was of her.

They went out through the back instead of the front and slipped into the shadows of the building to apparate. Once again, it didn't work. They had to go farther out into the wood. Draco led the way again. They reached a clearing about fifty yards in. The moon was directly overhead, and there was even a small pond. He turned his back to the pond.

Draco began to tell her where his house was, but she shushed him. Hermione looked over at the pond. "Doesn't it remind you of that night by the lake? The night you found my journal?"

He glanced at the pond and at the moon. "Yes. The moon was out then, too."

"I watched you for the first ten minutes when you found it." She looked at him. "Do you still have it?"

Draco reached into his robes and pulled it out. "Of course. I could never have parted with it. It was…all I had of you."

She took it and splayed her hand over the cover. "Oh, Draco." Hermione looked up at him with tears in her eyes again.

"Don't cry, love." He drew her near and tipped chin up. He whispered against her lips before he kissed her, "You don't have to anymore."

There in the moonlight, their lips fused and their love bloomed as it could have that moonlit night four years ago. Draco ended the kiss, feeling the urgency to leave while they could. Who knew if someone saw them slip away? He drew back to his full height and glanced up in the direction of the house…saw Pansy Parkinson aim her wand at them—no, at Hermione, who was still holding him close!

There was no time to think, only to act.

Draco whirled them around and felt a sensation of cold seeping into his limbs, spreading from his back. He dimly heard Hermione scream as he dropped to his knees, distantly saw her raise her wand and yell a curse. It was as if he was watching from the end of a long tunnel. He saw her look down at him, brush his face, press kisses to his mouth, vainly trying to get him to move. The journal lay beside his head, forgotten.

Hermione threw herself against his chest. Draco realized he was seeing her from above, and that his body was lying on the ground. Hermione's slender body shook with silent sobs. He tried to call her name, to scream, anything! It wasn't fair! He'd just found her.

He watched as her fingers brushed against the handle of his knife. She pulled it out and regarded it solemnly. Hermione turned her tearstained face up to the moon, her lips moving. She'd said, "God forgive me."

Something got her attention and she fired another spell at someone. None was returned. Hermione kissed his still lips once more and raised the knife.

He screamed her name, realizing her intent.

The knife plunged towards her heart.

A jet of green light hit her just as the tip entered her. Hermione fell forward onto his chest, her face turned towards his. The spell killed her, not the knife.

Their lifeless bodies were arranged so that it seemed they would both blink and move.

The tunnel closed, enveloping him in darkness. He yelled her name.

And heard her call him.

It seems they would be together at last.

**FIN

* * *

**

**Sooooo, what did y'all think of that? My brother was a little iffy on the why Hermione faked her death (yeah, yeah, my little brother. If you must know, he's the one who reads my stuff and judges it. He's very picky). I guess I was going for the let Draco grow in strength so he could have the ability to kill Voldemort and/or Potter, preferably both. If she had stayed, he wouldn't have been able to wreak havoc on the Light, him being all lovey-dovey and whatnot. Besides, y'all wanted Draco, not Hermione. In addition, if you're wondering how she faked her death, Hermione found a particular spell that allows one to create a real lifelike double of oneself that has a shelf life of a week. She cut the wrists of the double, with extreme queasiness. The double had plenty of time to be shown to her parents and be buried. When the week was up, the double disappears. No one would be the wiser unless her coffin was exhumed, which they would when they find her body next to Draco's, and so the saga concludes.**

**If there are any other questions, just ask in my reviews and I'll reply on my bio page. Don't forget to review it! **

– **TG **


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